Sins of the Father
by MagicSwede1965
Summary: Is Leslie really the last living Hamilton on earth? One man says not! Follows 'Love is Reason Enough'.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** _The stories just keep pouring out of me. Thank you again for your reviews and feedback…I'm always grateful and happy to see what you think. Here's another for you to enjoy!  
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§ § § -- May 5, 2001

Meeting Leslie on the porch of a Saturday morning, Roarke noticed the annoyed look on her face and paused to regard her more closely. "What's wrong?"

"Why does the military always have to make things as inconvenient as possible?" she demanded rhetorically. "Christian told me last evening when he got here for supper, before you came back from fixing that last-minute problem, that they called him yesterday at work and asked him to come over to Coral Island AFB and set up a new computer system for their airport tower."

"It sounds like an excellent opportunity for Christian's business," Roarke said. "Why is it a problem?"

"Because he has to do it tomorrow," Leslie told him, "and what's more, he's going to be gone the whole day! He said he tried to tell them he had some plans made because it's my birthday, but they insisted it had to be done this weekend, and he couldn't turn them down. I mean…I'm not blaming Christian, Father. I only wish the Air Force didn't have such an ironic sense of timing."

Roarke smiled at her disgruntled glare across the lane. "Believe me, child, I fully understand your disenchantment with the situation, but there just isn't anything to be done about it. I'm sure Christian is no happier about it than you are. Don't fret, Leslie, there will be other birthdays."

"But it would've been the first one…" Leslie said, sighing and looking away. "Oh, I don't know. I guess the spoiled brat in me is rearing its ugly little head again, isn't it?"

"Not to put it so bluntly, but yes," Roarke said, amused. "For the moment, why don't you set the problem aside and turn your mind to business matters, lest we be late meeting the plane." She nodded glumly and followed him to the car.

She wore one of three new outfits that she had received from Roarke for Christmas; they had talked the previous December about changing her look a bit for the new century, and she had tossed out a couple of ideas. Today she was wearing white pants with a black belt; a white blouse with black buttons, a black collar and black satin ribbon, tied in bows, threaded through the cuffs of the half-length sleeves; and her usual black flat-heeled shoes. As always, she wore her rainbow-gem bracelet on her left wrist, and of course, her wedding/ engagement ring set. She hadn't worn Teppo's ring, even to fend off amorous guests, since a couple of months before she had met Christian, and now kept it in a safe-deposit box in case she ever had a daughter to pass it down to.

She smoothed out the blouse on the way to the plane dock and slipped out of the car once Roarke had parked, coming to stand by his side as he called his usual, "Smiles, everyone, smiles!" After all these years, the ritual was still in place, and she unconsciously tapped her foot to the music of the welcoming band while Roarke introduced a family from Oklahoma who wanted to meet a somewhat notorious ancestor who had lived during Europe's Dark Ages. It made her laugh and hope aloud that they still liked the ancestor in question when the weekend was over.

Chuckling at her remark, Roarke shifted his attention back to the dock and frowned with sudden apprehension at the dark-blond man who descended it. "Mr. Scott Enderling," he said, "who comes from Carson City, Nevada…and has a most unusual fantasy."

"Which would be what?" asked Leslie, whose interest was always piqued by unusual fantasies. It made a nice break from routine.

To her amazement, Roarke hesitated, gave her a slightly worried look, and said, "I think perhaps it's best that the details come from Mr. Enderling himself, Leslie. In my reply letter to him, I requested that he meet us in my study within half an hour of his arrival, so that we can begin searching for the answer to his question without delay."

Leslie was instantly wary and a little alarmed; she'd never known Roarke to have that sort of reaction to any fantasy, and never before had he shied away from summarizing one to her before they met the guest who had it. It didn't bode well, and Leslie began to get acutely nervous behind her welcoming smile while Roarke raised his glass in toast.

‡ ‡ ‡

Scott Enderling was an average man for the most part: not too tall, not too short, not too fat or thin. He had a cleft chin, a slim nose and a well-groomed mustache that matched his hair; his eyes were blue and seemed to have a faintly wistful gleam to them. He reached the main house about fifteen minutes after Roarke and Leslie returned and shook hands with Roarke. "Thanks for seeing me," he said.

"Not at all," said Roarke. "May I introduce my assistant and daughter, Leslie Enstad."

Their guest looked puzzled as he shook hands with her. "I thought your name was Hamilton…? Oh, wait, that's right. I forgot—what a dope. You're married."

Leslie smiled, her manner a bit reserved. "Yes, just a few months ago." She looked at Roarke and said a touch ruefully, "I guess I'd better ask Christian to change that one page on the website, now that I've taken on his surname."

Roarke smiled at that, then suggested, "Please have a seat, Mr. Enderling."

"Thanks," the man said, started to sit and then shot Leslie a nervous look. "I, uh…I think you might want to sit down for this too, Mrs. Enstad."

"Just call me Leslie," she said immediately. She loved hearing others call her "Mrs. Enstad", but she generally preferred being on a first-name basis with their guests who were fairly near her own age.

He smiled, still nervous. "Thanks, Leslie, then call me Scott, please. Matter of fact, I think it'd be a lot less nerve-racking for me, so I'm glad you said that."

Leslie stared at him from behind Roarke's desk. "Is there something going on here that I should know about?"

Scott nodded, watching her warily. "Yeah, I'm afraid there is." He lowered himself into the chair, then looked at Roarke. "Did you tell her, Mr. Roarke?"

"No, I felt it best to leave that to you," Roarke said gently. "Leslie, sweetheart, Mr. Enderling is right—you might prefer to be seated when you hear what he has to say."

She gave him a look that was tinged with the beginnings of panic. "Is this something about Christian?" she asked.

"No, no, Christian isn't involved in this," Roarke assured her, extending a hand toward the chair, "but please do sit, Leslie. Let Mr. Enderling tell you his story."

Slowly Leslie circled around to the remaining chair and settled into it, tense and expectant. "Okay, let's have it," she said.

Scott took a deep breath and said to the front of the desk, "I'm here because I'm looking for my birth father. In the late fifties my mother was in college and was involved with… with a certain man who turned out to be married. She didn't know it till after they'd slept together a few times. He'd already left her when she found out she was pregnant with me, and I was born in 1960. Mom died three years ago and left me a packet of letters from this guy, and told me to find him. But I never really knew where to look…" He cleared his throat, reached inside the sport jacket he wore and extracted a very worn and yellowing envelope from an inner pocket. "These are his letters. I had only his name to go on till recently, so it wasn't easy to track him down. Then I finally got the idea to come here, and Mr. Roarke told me right away that I definitely should make the trip." He finally focused on Leslie with a worried look on his face. "You see, the name of the man my mother was involved with is Michael Hamilton—and I think you're my half-sister."

Both Scott and Roarke watched her as it sank in. Leslie, stunned into speechlessness, gawked huge-eyed at Scott; her mouth fell open in slow motion and her body went utterly still. Roarke leaned over with some alarm. "Leslie, your face is white," he said. "Are you all right, child? Do you need anything?"

She tried to speak, but her throat had gone dry and her voice failed her. Her eyes skipped from Scott to Roarke, enormous with pleading. "Tell me…tell me I heard him wrong," she croaked at last.

"No, you heard correctly," Roarke said, very kindly, sympathy radiating from him. "Mr. Enderling, why don't you show Leslie the letters."

"Right," said Scott, giving a start and hastily offering the envelope to Leslie. "Take your time looking through them. There's about six or eight months' worth there."

Without being quite aware she was doing it, Leslie took the envelope, staring at Scott again. "What was your mother's name?" she asked.

"Joanne Carroll," he replied promptly. "I was two when she married John Enderling."

Leslie nodded faintly and swallowed, which did nothing to alleviate the dusty feeling in her throat, and opened the envelope with a hesitant, quaking hand. She pulled out a thick packet of papers that had been folded in thirds; opening them, she thumbed slowly through them and estimated that there must be some two dozen or more sheets. Barely aware of Roarke's and Scott's concerned gazes on her, she focused on the topmost sheet and read aloud in a barely audible voice. " 'Dear Joanne, I can't believe the way I feel when I'm around you. I never thought I could fall in love with two women at once…' " Leslie's voice gave out again and she screwed her eyes shut, shaking her head. "Oh, God."

"I'm really sorry," Scott said helplessly. "I didn't mean to shock you like that, Leslie. I just…I mean, my stepfather always made it clear to me that I wasn't his kid, and I used to think it would be cool to find my real dad and maybe some brothers and sisters. I was only looking for family."

Leslie opened her eyes and stared at Roarke again. "I recognize Michael's chicken-scratch printing," she said dazedly. "That was his writing style—tiny and cramped and almost illegible. Father, I'm not…I don't know what on earth to think…how am I supposed to deal with this? I can't even get an answer from him now!"

Roarke understood immediately what she referred to, and he came out from behind the desk to put a comforting hand on her shoulder and get a look at the letters at the same time. "I realize this is very difficult for you, child," he said gently, "but think how Mr. Enderling is undoubtedly feeling at this moment." He looked up at Scott. "You realize that these letters in and of themselves do not constitute absolute proof of your parentage; they merely indicate that Michael Hamilton was involved with your mother. We have a lab here on the island, in our hospital, and they can perform a DNA test and have the results for you by tomorrow. We have some of the best scientists in the world here."

"Yeah, of course," Scott said immediately, eager to be accommodating. "I have no problem at all with that, believe me. Leslie, please accept my apologies."

Leslie could only manage a nod, and Roarke smiled sympathetically at Scott. "Perhaps the best thing to do is to give Leslie time to absorb the news, and in the meantime you can relax a bit. Try not to worry if you can help it, all right? You might like to take a swim or just sit in the sun by the pool. When we need to see you again, we'll call for you."

"Sure, Mr. Roarke," Scott said, casting Leslie an anxious glance. "I wish I could've had a better way of saying it. I just hope…" He stood, apparently searching for words, then gave a helpless shrug. "I didn't mean to be any trouble."

"It's quite all right," Roarke assured him. "You'll find a driver waiting outside with your things, and he will take you to your bungalow." Scott nodded, sighed softly and left the house in a dejected silence.

Roarke took his vacated chair and leaned forward, studying Leslie with concern, reaching out and catching the hand that wasn't clutching the letters. "Leslie, don't forget what I've always told you—get your feelings out in the open," he urged.

"I just can't believe this," she said, staring at him. "It has nothing to do with Scott. I can see he's blameless in this—after all, it's not like he asked to be born—it's Michael I'm angry at, damn him…"

"That's already happened," Roarke put in with quiet humor.

"That's the problem! I thought, with his soul in the custody of Mephistopheles, I'd finally put him and his awful memory behind me, and now here's this poor guy thinking Michael might be his father. I actually managed to forgive Michael Hamilton for destroying my family, and now I find out he was having an affair with another woman while he was married to my mother. I can only hope Mom never found out about it. I think it would have devastated her."

Roarke said, "Mr. Enderling tells us he was born in 1960, so it would appear that Michael Hamilton's involvement with Joanne Carroll occurred in 1959. How long had he and your mother been married by then?"

"Four years," Leslie said. "I wasn't born till ten years into their marriage, and that's about the time Michael started changing, according to what Mom used to tell me. But if you ask me, he was never any different before I came along. Not from what I know now."

"There is much you don't really know about him, Leslie," Roarke said, "and I suspect those letters may contain some insights. For your own sake, sweetheart, ask Mr. Enderling if he's willing to let you keep them overnight, so that you can go through them at your leisure." He waited till she had met his gaze before continuing, "I think it's also a good idea if you and Mr. Enderling get a little better acquainted. If he truly is your half-brother, he will wish to remain in contact with you, if I guess correctly."

Leslie closed her eyes for a moment, drew in a deep breath, opened them and emptied her lungs with a gust. "There must be a Chinese curse on me or something."

"A Chinese curse?" Roarke echoed, puzzled.

"You know that classic saying that the Chinese are supposed to have, about living in interesting times? I think someone got a look at me when I was born and said, 'May she live an interesting life.' "

Roarke laughed. "Through all the assorted upheavals and ordeals you've endured, Leslie, I find that your sense of humor survives surprisingly intact, and I believe it's one of the constants that has held you together in these situations. If you can continue to find some humor in this, I think you'll have little trouble accepting whatever conclusions we will uncover here. Why don't you put the letters in your room upstairs for safekeeping, and we'll go and meet the Clancy family at their bungalow."


	2. Chapter 2

§ § § -- May 5, 2001

Scott Enderling carried his suitcase into the bungalow and took a few minutes to look around the main room before toting the bag to the bedroom and laying it atop the bed. He unzipped and opened it, then reached into the large pocket on the flipped-up side and withdrew a three-month-old copy of _People_ magazine. The front cover bore a color photo, outlined by a white "frame", one of several photographs taken by a Gordy Strassner for the accompanying article by a Myeko Okada, who worked for the _Fantasy Island Chronicle_ and had been granted the one-and-only interview given by Prince Christian and his new wife after their wedding in January. The magazine had been one of a number of select publications around the world that had received permission to reprint the article.

Scott flipped the magazine open to it, reading it for at least the three-dozenth time since he'd received it in his mail in early February. The address label on the front bore Mandy's name; it was one of the few reminders of her presence in his life, and he didn't have the energy to cancel the subscription. It was a good thing he hadn't, or he might never have found the woman who could very well be his half-sister. He felt that surge of envy again. In the cover photo, Leslie and Prince Christian both looked supremely happy, sitting in each other's embrace with joyful smiles on their faces. Once upon a time, he'd had that with Mandy, before she had walked out on him…

He shook off the memory and skimmed through the article till he came to Leslie's life history. He hadn't needed to ask her any questions about herself when he'd finally met her a bare half hour before in the main house. She looked just like the photographs, and he had to wonder if she bore any of Michael Hamilton's facial characteristics, or if either she or Hamilton possessed the same double-jointed thumb as he—a little peculiarity that had always spooked Mandy. Like Scott, Leslie had blue eyes, but half the people on earth had blue eyes. He couldn't see any other resemblance to himself in her face. Perhaps she looked like her mother, as he looked mostly like his.

It had been the names of her parents in her biographical summary that had prompted him to write to Fantasy Island. Though he knew even then that it might be a long shot, he had also figured it was his last, best chance. The payoff had come when she'd admitted that she recognized her birth father's handwriting. Scott still felt elated at the revelation; he hadn't been sure till that moment that he wasn't on some stupid wild-goose chase, as Mandy had constantly claimed. He glanced out to the main room, tempted to call Mandy and tell her he'd finally stumbled over something significant.

But Roarke had been right: the letters weren't proof that Michael Hamilton was Scott's father. He didn't mind doing the DNA test; but if it showed beyond any doubt that he and Leslie Hamilton Enstad were half-siblings, he was worried about her reaction to that. Would she ever accept him? Would she be willing to stay in touch with him?

His weariness from the flights to Los Angeles and then Honolulu, plus the overnight charter to Fantasy Island on which he hadn't slept a wink, caught up with him and he took a couple of hours' nap in the bedroom before coming to groggy life around eleven-thirty and waking himself up fully with a shower. Feeling better, he unpacked his suitcase and took the magazine back out into the main room with him. About to sit down, he halted in surprise when the telephone rang.

It was Roarke. "We are ready for you to undergo the DNA test, Mr. Enderling," he said, "and after that I've suggested to Leslie that you and she might have lunch together and try to forge an acquaintance. If you'll meet us at the main house, we will drive from there to the hospital. I am told the test should take no more than half an hour at most."

"That's fine, Mr. Roarke, thanks. Be there in a few minutes," Scott promised and hung up. Carrying the magazine, he made his way out of the bungalow and along a marked trail that soon discharged him onto the lane within sight of the main house.

Leslie squinted at the magazine when she and Roarke met him on the porch. "What's that?" she asked.

Scott displayed the cover at her, a little sheepish. "I got this in the mail back in February," he explained. "That's what gave me the clue I needed."

"Oh," said Leslie, glancing at Roarke with a resigned smile. "Another repercussion from Myeko's article." On Roarke's chuckle, she said to Scott, "The author of the article is a friend of mine. I saw that particular magazine in our local bookshop and I'd meant to grab a copy, but I never did get around to it."

"I'd think you'd've been sick to death of seeing your face on magazine covers," Scott ventured questioningly as they got into the car in the lane.

"I was," Leslie assured him. "In the end I was kind of glad I never bought any of them. It was the only interview we gave, and the same text was printed over and over again in the various publications. Myeko was collecting them for her scrapbook, and she told me that quite a few of them printed sidebars of their own, plus some extra photos of Christian they'd had on file. I let her borrow a couple shots of me from my early childhood and a school portrait of me when I was sixteen, and those cropped up in most of the reprints too. But there were some that unearthed newspaper articles printed in 1973 and 1978 in Connecticut and California, and reprinted pictures from those as well as quoting from text. I got a look at her collection a few weeks ago. Geez, I'm just glad they finally moved on to somebody else. It's the strangest thing, being in the spotlight like that."

"I guess that's what you get for marrying a prince," Scott remarked, grinning, and was relieved when she laughed softly and nodded. "Uh…Mr. Roarke said you were agreeable to having lunch somewhere after the test is done."

Leslie nodded. "There's a café in town where my friends and I go quite often," she said. "We can eat there; they have very good food."

"Sounds great," said Scott, and after that the conversation seemed to fizzle out. Both Scott and Leslie were nervous, and neither could quite hide it.

After the test had been administered, Roarke dropped Scott and Leslie off in town, telling them to enjoy their lunch, and drove off to handle an errand. Scott followed Leslie along the street, wondering why she kept her head down as she walked. Curiously he looked around the town square. There was the bookshop Leslie had mentioned, a florist, a hairdresser, the local post office, a souvenir shop, jeweler, clothing store, bank, a grocery store that took up four storefronts in one building on the far side of the square, a toy shop and even a computer-services business. The café was on a corner and took up two storefronts in itself; it gave a pleasant view of the street outside and the fountain and little wishing well in the New-England-style green at the center of the square. A few cars and dozens of bicycles were parked around the area.

Both quite uneasy now, Scott and Leslie took seats at a table and hid themselves behind menus, trying to think of something to say. After a few minutes she finally gave him a slightly cautious look over the top of her menu and suggested, "Tell me about your mom…what was she like?"

"A little sad and lonely," Scott said softly, abandoning his menu to think back. "She never had any kids besides me, and I think she wanted more, but John wasn't interested. He didn't like me—I think if it hadn't been for Mom protecting me, he'd have sent me off to live with my grandparents. Mom saw to it that he did right by me at least, but it was a grudging duty." He peered at Leslie. "What about Michael?"

"He was even worse," Leslie said shortly, surprising Scott. Before he could ask or Leslie continue, though, the café door opened and Christian came in, pausing just inside to glance around. Instantly Leslie lit up; Christian spotted her and Scott, smiled with noticeable reservation and came over to join them.

"You don't normally eat here on a weekend," he remarked, glancing questioningly at Scott before focusing on Leslie. "What brings you here today?"

Leslie reached out and clutched his hand, intensifying his quizzical look. "It's a sort of get-acquainted thing," she said. "Father suggested it. This is a guest of ours, Scott Enderling. Scott, meet my husband, Christian."

Scott rose enough to stretch across the table and shake hands with Christian. "It's a pleasure, Your Highness."

"Please, my love, sit with us," Leslie said, patting the seat beside her, a hopeful gleam in her eyes. Christian smiled again, set a small wrapped box on the table and took the seat beside her, clearly still wondering what was going on. Scott took note of the reserved aura around Christian and gave him an apologetic look.

"It's probably a good thing you're here," he said. "I gave Leslie kind of a shock this morning. You see, I have reason to believe she's my half-sister."

Christian's eyes widened, his expression cleared, and he nodded slowly. "That would certainly shock me," he agreed, turning to Leslie and smiling warmly. "You seem ill at ease. Would you like me to stay here for lunch? I have an hour."

"Please, my love," Leslie said fervently, relief in her voice.

Christian squeezed her hand. "Good. I have something to give you anyway. Have you ordered yet?"

"We just got here," said Leslie. "We've barely even looked at our menus." Her gaze dropped and she swallowed. "I'm not even sure I'm hungry."

"Oh, my Leslie Rose, you can't give in to that loss of appetite all the time," Christian scolded gently. "No wonder Mariki never lets up on you! Just have a little something, all right? What looks appealing to you?" He opened her menu in front of them and laid one hand on the back of her shoulder, giving the listed choices a once-over. Scott watched with that old envy again. Ever since reading that article, he'd wondered in the back of his mind if that sort of deep and abiding love could actually exist. It looked real enough to him: Leslie's delight at his arrival and her relief at his presence; Christian's concern over her and the way he protectively touched her even as they sat there. It seemed the stuff of fairy tales, but this fairy tale appeared to be pretty genuine.

After a moment Christian looked up. "How did you reach the conclusion that you and Leslie might be half-siblings?"

"My mother kept letters from Michael Hamilton when they were involved in the late 50s," said Scott carefully, glancing at Leslie. "When you two were married earlier this year, I saw that article that finally let the cat out of the bag, and the story of Leslie's background really jumped out at me. It revealed the names of her parents, and I realized I might actually have a sibling after all—I'd always wished for one."

Christian eyed him with some confusion. "It seems to me a rather large conclusion to leap to, on the strength of just a quick life summary," he said. "I mean…I'm sure my wife's biological father wasn't the only Michael Hamilton who ever existed."

"Michael was having an affair with Scott's mother," Leslie explained in a tight voice. "Trouble is, at the time, he was married to _my_ mother."

"And in Michael's last letter to Mom," Scott put in, "he mentioned he had to go back to his wife, Shannon. The two put together seemed like more than a coincidence."

"I understand," Christian said, giving Leslie a worried look. "You're so tense, my darling. It's not Mr. Enderling's fault he exists, you know."

"Please call me Scott," Scott broke in hastily, and Christian cast him a quick smile of acknowledgement.

Leslie turned to Christian and seemed to lean closer to him. "It isn't Scott I'm blaming, my love," she said, "it's Michael. I thought I'd finally managed to come to whatever peace I could with the way he destroyed our lives, but now I find out he was cheating on Mom, whom he always claimed to love."

Christian nodded comprehension and wrapped his arm around her. "I'm here for you, my Rose," he reminded her quietly, and she finally smiled. Returning it, Christian squeezed gently and then seemed to remember something. "Oh yes…I wanted to do this now, since I won't see you again till Monday morning. I just got it here in town and was about to make a trip to the main house, and happened to stop in here to pick up something to eat on the way over—which is when I saw you over here." He released her and handed her the box. "This arrived just yesterday—I ordered it about three weeks ago—and it's yours. Happy birthday, my darling."

She shot him an astonished, wide-eyed look, and he grinned with anticipation, watching her open the gift. Scott looked on in surprise. "Today's your birthday, Leslie?" he asked.

"It's actually tomorrow," Christian explained, "but I have a massive computer-setup project on another island, for the American military base there, and I'll have to leave this afternoon and stay throughout tomorrow. I thought it wiser to give my wife her birthday gift too soon than too late." He grinned again, teasingly, and Scott laughed.

"A very intelligent man," Leslie remarked, equally teasingly, opening the box and revealing a necklace. The pendant was a heart-shaped ruby about half an inch across, set in a slightly larger gold heart and attached to a thick, sturdy gold chain. Leslie drew in a soft breath of wonder and lifted it out. "Oh, Christian, it's gorgeous!"

"Good, you like it," said Christian in satisfaction. "I thought you needed some color to contrast with all the white you wear every weekend. Your father has that elegant gold watch on its chain, and now you have this."

Leslie turned to him and kissed him softly. "It'll look perfect," she said. "Thank you so much, my love! Will you put it on for me?"

"Ah, it starts again," Christian mused, chuckling. "I can't begin to tell you how many necklaces I used to latch around Anna-Kristina's neck when she was a child. I should be an expert at this." Leslie lifted her hair and he deftly wound the chain around her neck, fastening it securely.

Scott watched the entire time. "Looks great," he said.

"It certainly does," Christian agreed, and they both laughed at Leslie's sheepish smile. Christian pressed a kiss to her cheek and smoothed her hair a little. "Now, let's have some lunch. I need to eat something, because I don't know if the Air Force will feed me later on, and I'm hungry."

They made choices and put in their orders to the waitress; then Leslie focused on Scott, looking calmer with Christian at her side. "What else can you tell me about your mother?" she asked curiously.

Scott shrugged. "She tried her best to make a good life for us, but she made a bad marriage with John Enderling and she knew there was friction between him and me. I think it wore her down. When Mom found out about her cancer, I think in a way she was relieved." He glanced at Christian. "My mother and stepfather divorced when I was in high school, and Mom died of cancer three years ago. She gave me the letters she'd saved all those years from Michael Hamilton and told me to try to track him down—he might help me, she said. John and I are barely in touch and he'd be happier if we weren't at all."

"I'm sorry," said Christian with sympathy. "Now this is really Leslie's story to tell, but I'm sure she'll agree when I say that, from what I know of Michael Hamilton, he would have been about as warm and welcoming as your stepfather."

"He was that bad?" Scott asked, amazed, and stared at Leslie's solemn nod. "Mom used to have some great memories of him. She told me a lot about him."

"Well, I have a feeling that's because he never knew about you. When he was involved with your mother, he was still childless, and Mom told me a few times that he started going cold and distant as soon as they learned she was pregnant with me. My sisters and I grew up knowing him as dictatorial and occasionally cruel. He thawed only around Mom, and even then not much. And as we got older and developed our own individual personalities, he grew worse and worse." She hesitated, and Christian rested a hand between her shoulder blades, lightly caressing. Scott detected a faint relaxation about her at his touch; it seemed to give her a little extra strength. But her eyes were unfocused when she concluded quietly, "And then he killed Mom and the twins."

Speechless, Scott gaped at her. The silence stretched out long enough that Leslie looked up at him and took in his expression. "It's true," she said.

"How…?" Scott began, then broke off, unsure he should make her relive a memory that obviously was painful for her.

Leslie gave him an understanding look. "It's okay," she assured him and summarized the story of the house fire, while Christian sat lending her the quiet support of his touch and Scott just gawked in horror. When she finished, Leslie let her head droop, and Christian regarded her with added concern but still didn't speak.

In the silence their plates arrived, and Christian gave Leslie a reassuring pat or two before starting right in on his lunch. Scott slowly followed suit; Leslie stared into her salad bowl. Christian paused when he noticed. "Leslie, my darling, please," he said softly.

She looked up and saw the plea in his gaze, and smiled a little. "Just for you, my love. Thank you for being here."

"Always, my Rose," Christian replied, smiling back. He watched her till she actually did start eating, then resumed his own lunch. Scott found himself thinking of Mandy and wondering what she was doing now.

Christian's curious query seemed to echo his unexpected train of thought. "Are you married, Scott?"

"Divorced," said Scott reluctantly. "I guess you could call Mandy the love of my life, but she never quite got this thing I had about finding out more about my real father. I think she figured I was obsessed." He shrugged, aware of Christian's and Leslie's sympathetic gazes. "I still miss her."

Christian and Leslie both nodded in understanding. Then he looked at her and commanded, "Eat," in a stern tone that even Scott knew was fake. Scott had to laugh when Leslie pulled a gargoyle face on Christian and he stuck his tongue out at her in return before they both snickered.

"You two know how to be playful," he remarked wistfully. "Mandy was like that before she started changing. I wish I could figure out where I went wrong."

"Forgive me," Christian said, "but maybe it's not you, so much as it is Mandy. Is she willing to sit down with you and talk things over?"

Scott shrugged. "Didn't think it would do much good. We just walked away after the divorce was finalized. I didn't want her to be unhappy, and I could tell that's what she was with me."

"Maybe you gave up too easily," Leslie offered softly. "If you and Mandy never talked, how do you know what she was really feeling? You should try to get in touch with her, see if she's open to communication. She might surprise you."

Scott looked up thoughtfully and mused in a hopeful voice, "You could be right. Guess I won't know till I try."

"Exactly so," agreed Christian. "Now, you're from where?"

The three had a pleasant conversation throughout the meal; then Christian checked his watch and sighed. "It's time for me to collect Julianne and get over to the Air Force base," he said with some regret. "We'll actually have to be there overnight tomorrow as well as tonight, so I doubt I'll have a chance to give you a call before I return, my Rose."

"I understand," Leslie said, a wistful note in her tone. She smiled. "Well, it's not as if you have to go back to Lilla Jordsö. We should be experts at being separated by now."

"That's quite true," Christian admitted, "but at the same time that experience makes it all the worse. Still…I _will_ be back on Monday, waiting for you at the main house as always. That much I can guarantee you."

"Good, I'll look forward to it, my love," said Leslie.

Christian nodded, reached across the table and once again shook hands with Scott. "It was good to meet you, Scott, and I wish you luck in learning the truth—and with Mandy." Scott smiled and nodded thanks, and Christian then turned to his wife. "Next year, my Leslie Rose, I promise to turn your birthday into something very special, since the military is forcing me to miss out on this year's. In the meantime, I'll look forward to taking you home on Monday, and we can have a late celebration."

Leslie smiled. "That plan sounds wonderful. Be safe, Christian, please. I love you."

Unheeding of Scott's presence, Christian kissed her, just deeply enough to tantalize himself and Leslie both. "I love you too, my Leslie Rose. Until Monday." He arose and left the café in something of a hurry.

"You sure don't see a love like that every day. Does he always rush off that way when he has to say goodbye to you?" Scott asked, amused.

Leslie grinned. "If it's going to be a longer separation than usual, or an enforced one, he tries to prevent protracted farewells. He can't stand them—we both wind up taking forever and feeling worse and worse in the bargain. So he just says his final goodbyes and then cuts out quick." They both laughed with complete understanding. "So…now that you know my birthday, when's yours?"


	3. Chapter 3

§ § § -- May 5, 2001

Leslie returned to the main house that afternoon around four, a little more at ease with this strange situation. Scott Enderling had turned out to be a very personable sort of guy, fairly easy to talk to once the ice had been broken and they had managed to move on to topics other than that of Michael Hamilton. Scott had given his birthdate as July of 1960, which would have meant Joanne had been involved with Michael in the fall of 1959. Scott had said his mother had just begun her final year of nursing school when she met Michael, and they had been together less than three months before Michael told her he was returning to Shannon. The letters waiting upstairs might tell her more, but she wasn't ready to look at them just yet. She wished Christian didn't have to be on Coral Island, and might have sunk into melancholy; but then there was a knock on the door and she went to answer it, letting in Katsumi—who had just learned she was pregnant—and Tabitha, who was accompanied by her four-year-old daughter Cristina and her nine-week-old son Ramón.

"Surprise, Leslie, I hope you're not busy," Tabitha said questioningly.

"Not at the moment," Leslie said, delighted. "Come on in and keep me company! I'm just manning the desk till supper, and that'll be a couple hours or so."

Katsumi smiled at her. "I can stay just a short time," she said. "I come to see if your cook can spare some tea, and then I go into town and buy some vitamins." She sighed with some drama. "I tell Kazuo this is his last chance to get a son. If we have a girl, he must be happy with his three daughters."

Leslie and Tabitha laughed. "Oh, come on, Katsumi, we both know Kazuo can talk you into anything," Leslie teased, and Katsumi giggled and nodded agreement. "And wow, look how this guy's growing! He's huge already! I bet Fernando's proud as anything."

"Oh, he is," Tabitha said, grinning. "He's still bragging to every one of his patients."

Leslie smiled at Cristina. "Do you help your mom with your baby brother?" she asked.

Cristina nodded, bright-eyed. Leslie's friends' children were all familiar enough with her that they were rarely shy around her, although they were still getting used to Christian. "All the time," the little girl said, then reconsidered. "Well, 'cept sometimes. I don't like helping out when Ramón has a dirty diaper."

They all laughed, and Leslie indicated the chairs. "Sit down, both of you. Have you seen anyone else around today?"

"Just Camille, passing by on her way over to the hospital. She and Jimmy are trying to get pregnant again," Tabitha said.

"Oh, then they decided to go ahead and try for a girl," Leslie remarked. "I hope they get one. I keep wondering if Lauren and Brian are ever going to decide to have kids…I mean, they've never said anything one way or another, and you know how Lauren always acts so grossed out whenever we talk about pregnancy."

Tabitha giggled. "I think if Lauren could have a baby without being pregnant, she might go ahead and do it."

"She should try," Katsumi said with a mischievous little grin. "When I expect a baby, I can eat anything I like, even if it is very strange…and Kazuo never says anything. He will even cook it for me." They all laughed again, but Katsumi's expression changed as she peered at Leslie. "You have…how you say…the blues, yes, Leslie? What is wrong?"

Leslie stared at her. "How on earth do you recognize these things, Katsumi? I always thought Father was the only one who could do that." Katsumi just shrugged, and Leslie relented, smiling reluctantly. "It has to do with one of the fantasies. Not to name any names or give away too much, but one of our guests came here looking to find his birth father—and it turns out that his birth father may be the same as mine."

Katsumi and Tabitha looked at each other in disbelief. Cristina, not understanding, said, "Miss Leslie, does that mean Mr. Roarke is that man's daddy too?"

Leslie had to laugh. "No, sweetie, Mr. Roarke adopted me a long time ago. When I was born, my mother was married to a man who wasn't very nice. That same man might be the father of our guest, you see?"

Cristina nodded. "Oh. That's why you call Mr. Roarke Father, 'cause the other man wasn't nice to you?"

"In a nutshell," Leslie said with a wry look at Tabitha. "A very, very compact nutshell, but still pretty accurate. Yup, it looks as if I may have a half-brother."

"That's amazing," Tabitha said, shaking her head. "Just when you think you've found out all you know about your family history, something new crops up, doesn't it?"

"How do you feel about this?" Katsumi asked.

"Mixed-up," Leslie admitted with a long sigh. "And I can't even talk to Christian about it. He's over on the Air Force base with Julianne, setting up a computer system for them, and it's going to keep him there till Monday morning."

Katsumi looked sympathetic. "Does he know?"

Leslie nodded. "I was having lunch with our guest at the café, and Christian dropped in unexpectedly and wound up eating with us. He found out the whole thing then. By the time he comes for me on Monday, I'll know what the truth is."

"I hope," Tabitha said gently, "that you're not visiting the sins of the father on the son. That is, the possible son."

Leslie eyed her. "You and Father," she said, and Tabitha grinned. "I know it's no one's fault except Michael Hamilton's. The thing is, I'll still have reason to be angry with that man, even if it turns out he isn't our guest's father after all. He wrote the man's mother letters that she kept and left to her son, who agreed to let me keep them overnight so I can get a good look at them. I recognized Michael's handwriting, so even if he isn't the father, it still proves he was involved with another woman. He'd been married to Mom for four years already when he had his affair."

"Ouch," said Tabitha, wincing in sympathy. "I'm sorry, Leslie. It must be quite a load to have to deal with."

"I'm kind of bewildered right now," Leslie admitted slowly. "I don't want to think about what I'm going to do until after the DNA-test results come back. Till then, I'm just focusing on the fact that Michael cheated on Mom. I told Father this morning that I hope she never found out about it. In spite of everything, she found something in Michael that kept her in love with him, and while I admit to wondering what in heck it could possibly have been, I respect that. It's mostly a matter of my trying to forgive him for yet another misdeed. And I'll have to do that on my own—you remember how I told you and the other girls what finally happened to his soul nine years ago."

"Oh, that's right," Tabitha remembered and shook her head. "I wish you luck, Leslie."

"I don't like to say I know answers," Katsumi ventured, carefully picking her way through the language, "but I say, think of this as another bad thing Michael Hamilton did, and say yourself, that is the way he was and this is not something different." She scowled at herself and gave Leslie a helpless look. "I hope you understand me, Leslie. My English is still not so good."

Leslie smiled warmly at her. "You said it very well, Katsumi—I got it perfectly. I should just add this to the long list of Michael's rotten deeds, right?" Katsumi nodded, and Leslie mirrored her action in agreement. "All I can say is, Michael's list of indiscretions is quite long enough as it is. If anything else comes up in the future, I may have to start looking into seeing a shrink."

Tabitha grinned. "Hey, you don't need any silly shrink. You have us, and Mr. Roarke, and Christian. And we don't charge for listening."

They all laughed at that, and Leslie grinned at them. "I'm glad you two came over," she said. "I feel better now, you know? You're absolutely right, Tabitha. You guys and Father and Christian beat heck out of a shrink anytime."

Katsumi arose, looking reluctant. "I must go. Must get my tea and then find vitamins that the doctor say I must have. We are always your friends, Leslie. You are never alone."

"She's right," Tabitha said firmly. "See you later on, Katsumi…"

Leslie echoed her, and their pretty Japanese friend smiled her farewell and made her way down to the kitchen to talk to Mariki. Before either Leslie or Tabitha could say anything more, though, the phone rang and Leslie picked up. "Main house…"

Tabitha watched while Leslie listened, and after a moment Leslie brightened. "Oh, that's wonderful! My husband's on Coral Island for the weekend on a work project, but we'll both be free on Monday to come over and take a look. That's super news—thanks so much. Yes, see you then." She hung up and grinned at Tabitha. "You know Christian and I are having a house built across the lane from Grady and Maureen, right? Well, that was the construction-company owner. He says the exterior is completed now, and the interior work is far enough along that Christian and I can come over and take a tour to see how it's going. Maybe we'll be lucky enough to be in our own home by Christian's birthday."

"That's great," Tabitha agreed enthusiastically. "Which reminds me, I wanted to ask you. When _is_ Christian's birthday? Fernando said something about having some sort of party for him then, so he and the other husbands can kind of officially welcome him to the island and all that." She grinned. "They're likely to sit around and play poker or canasta or something, and talk about sports, and drink a few kegs of beer, and discuss us behind our backs, but what the heck, right?"

Leslie laughed. "Then they'll have plenty of time to plan all these wonderful activities. Christian's birthday isn't for another seven weeks, so maybe Fernando and the other guys will have a chance to come up with something a little more celebratory."

"I hope so," Tabitha said. "After all, he's a prince, and something tells me he might not be too comfortable with guzzling beer and talking about football. It seems to me Christian might better appreciate some good wine and talking about, oh, I don't know, polo…"

"Here's a secret," Leslie said, grinning. "Christian likes beer as much as the next guy, although he tends to prefer European brews. And he told me once that he never did understand the lure of polo. He likes soccer."

Tabitha laughed and remarked, "Well, that's something anyway. I'll have to tell Fernando that, before he starts wondering if he needs to go out and dump half his savings account on a bottle of Dom Perignon." She arose and reached out to squeeze Leslie's hand. "Good luck, and let us know what the final verdict is, okay? Like Katsumi said, we're here for you, no matter what. I need to get the children home…I borrowed Fernando's jeep to come up here and get some food shopping done, and I need to get started on that. Tell Mr. Roarke hello from me."

"I will," said Leslie. "Thanks so much for coming over." Tabitha smiled and wheeled Ramón's stroller out the door, with Cristina trailing behind, waggling her fingers at Leslie on the way out. Leslie waggled hers impishly back and settled back in her chair, surprised at how much more relaxed she felt. Even without Christian there, she felt a little better prepared to face whatever revelations awaited her in Michael Hamilton's letters to Joanne Carroll, and perhaps even to face the results of the test.


	4. Chapter 4

§ § § -- May 5, 2001

_Dear Joanne…You said last night that you're hoping to have kids someday. Don't do that to yourself. You're bright and sweet and funny, and so pretty. My wife's been talking about kids lately, and it's all I can do to keep from telling her off. She thought from the very beginning of our marriage that we were going to have children, and I told her "no", but it hasn't stopped her from bringing it up now and then. She's in another one of her "let's have a kid" phases, and I'm glad I have you to turn to…_

_Dear Joanne…You're so soft, so easy to make love to. It's like I can forget everything around you. I told myself not to fall in love, but damn it, I'm falling anyway. It has to be our secret, baby. You said yourself you're going to be taking on a job in Nevada when you graduate college, and nurses can get jobs anywhere, so your future's assured. I ought to do the sensible thing and tell you not to waste it on me. But I can't…_

_Dear Joanne…Just bought a house in Plainville, about forty minutes from here. My wife keeps talking about redecorating. Never saw her so excited about something. Me, I don't care, I just want a roof over my head to keep out the rain and snow. It's not much really, just a one-story rancher with three bedrooms and a full cellar, but it's a solid little place. Sometimes I think of you in there, instead of my wife. Can't let myself go down that path. My parents would be shattered. They think the world of her…_

_Dear Joanne…It's almost Christmas. I'm not religious, but all this "peace on earth" and "goodwill to men" stuff has me thinking. I'm not good for you, baby. I told you before, don't waste your future on me. You have somewhere else to go and another purpose to your life. Look…this has to be my last letter, our last meeting. I've come to the realization that I can't let Shannon go. I love her too much, even through her obsession with having babies and all that crap. I always loved Shannon, and I'm going back to her and at least try to be worthy of her. Don't come hunting me down, Joanne, please, it would be the worst thing you could do. You should get back together with Gusty, it seemed like you had a good thing with him. Hey, take care of yourself. You seem to be having stomach flu or something, the way you've been getting sick all week. Go see a doctor. And don't forget, no matter what, I loved you all the way through our time together. It's just that, well, I owe Shannon…_

Leslie dropped the last letter on the bedspread and hugged her knees, shaking her head slowly to herself. Was it truly love Michael had felt for Shannon, or only a sense of duty? But he'd said he loved Shannon; and she could remember his last words the night she'd condemned his soul to Mephistopheles' keeping— _"I'm sorry, Shannon, I'm sorry…"_ His anguish had been as genuine as any she'd ever seen. She heaved a long sigh, reluctantly admitting to herself that perhaps there had been some tiny slice of Michael Hamilton's soul that had been redeemable, although certainly not enough to save him from his ultimate fate. Leslie still fully believed that he deserved exactly what he'd gotten, but she had finally come to realize that he'd done what he did out of a twisted belief that he was saving Shannon from some far worse fate. Even if Michael had never cared about his daughters, at least he had genuinely loved his wife. "Oh, Christian, I wish you were here," she whispered.

A thought occurred to her and she flashed a glance at the clock; it was a few minutes shy of midnight, and Roarke was still out, having informed Leslie he wouldn't be back that night due to an unexpected role-playing stint in the Clancy fantasy. _Maybe he'll be angry at me, or maybe he won't mind; but I'm doing it anyway. I really need to get one of those freaking things myself—not so much for the sake of communication between Father and me, I guess, but with anyone else. I mean, Grady and Maureen have them, and Lauren said she and Brian are talking about getting them too… _ Her thoughts carried her downstairs, where she picked up the phone on the desk and punched out Christian's cell-phone number, which she had memorized some time ago.

She heard three buzzes—the double beep characteristic of European telephones—before the connection went through and a sleepy male voice grumbled, "Enstad…"

"Christian, my love?" she said, suddenly hesitant. "I woke you up, didn't I?"

"Leslie?" responded Christian, sounding very surprised. "What on earth made you decide to call at this hour? Not that I'm unhappy about it, but I'm curious. There's no emergency, my darling, is there?"

"No, not really," Leslie said, now feeling foolish. "I'm sorry, my love, I didn't mean to wake you up. I probably shouldn't even have called…the Air Force will want you to start early in the morning, I'm sure, and—"

"Leslie, my Rose, stop apologizing," Christian said warmly. "You could have called me at three in the morning and it would have made my day…or night, as it happens. Yes, you woke me up, but it's you, so I don't care. What's wrong?"

"I…well, I just finished reading those letters Michael wrote to Scott Enderling's mother. They weren't involved for long, maybe eight or ten weeks, I guess. But it sounded to me as if he loved both Scott's mother and mine at the same time, yet he felt he owed his allegiances to Mom. In the last letter he mentioned that he thought Joanne had stomach flu because she was getting sick. That must have been about the time her pregnancy symptoms started kicking in. The timing would've been right. Oh, Christian, I wish…" Unexpectedly Leslie's throat closed off.

"Don't cry, my darling," Christian pleaded. "It kills me when you do, especially when I can't be there to hold you. You were right: the military has a peculiar sense of timing." It had been the first thing she'd said to him when he told her about the project.

"Yeah," Leslie mumbled miserably. "I've never felt so mixed-up in my life. All I need is a hug, and I can't even have that."

"Where's Mr. Roarke?" Christian asked. "He would make a reasonable substitute for me, wouldn't he?"

"Yes, but something came up in the other fantasy and it required him to do some role-playing so he could supervise in case something went really haywire. I'm here by myself and trying not to let my new anger at Michael completely take over."

"There's nothing you can do or say to him now, my darling," Christian reminded her gently. "He's long dead, and all the hurt and pain you feel over what he did will have to find some outlet. They'll eventually be the death of you. You really do have to try to forgive him. Whatever may have happened to any soul he might have had left, that's not for you to worry about. You're alive, Leslie, and you've beaten him simply by surviving. You're much tougher than he could have ever imagined."

"I should tell you what happened to that soul," Leslie realized softly, suddenly aware that Christian didn't know the story of that particular meeting with Mephistopheles. "But you know…you're right. I did beat him just by surviving his fire, didn't I? I never thought of it like that before."

Christian chuckled. "Ah, there you go. Did I make you feel any better, then?"

"It helps just to talk to you," Leslie said, and then remembered. "Oh, Christian, guess what. The construction company called this afternoon and said the exterior of our house is finished, and the interior's done enough to withstand a tour. I told him we'll be out there on Monday to see it."

"Now that's excellent news," Christian said cheerfully. "I'm glad you told me. Maybe we can move in before midsummer. Perhaps you should start packing, my darling, since you seem to be sleepless tonight."

She joined in his laugh. "Well, maybe a little less so now. How's the project going, my love? No major glitches or anything, I hope?"

"So far so good," Christian said, "but if some major problem comes up and looks as if it will delay my return home, I'll call you immediately and let you know." His voice became a caress. "Now that I hear your voice, I find myself missing you suddenly."

"I always miss you on the weekends, Christian," Leslie said softly. "I think it's worse this time because…well…"

"For one thing, it's now officially your birthday," Christian noted, "so before I say anything else, I should say happy birthday. And then, of course, the possibility of that man being your half-brother, after you thought for so long that you had no blood relatives left."

"Yeah," Leslie murmured, reminded again. "Well, if I hold onto you all day Monday, at least you'll know the reason."

Christian laughed softly. "You can hold onto me all you like. Now why don't you try to get a little sleep? I don't like to be abrupt, but I do need to get my own rest. Tomorrow will be a long day, and probably for you as well. Just remember, no matter what you find out, I love you. I'll always love you."

"I love you too, my darling," Leslie said wistfully. "I just hope you _can_ sleep, on whatever passes for a bed in the Air Force."

"Oh, they've put me and Julianne up in something called BOQ," Christian said, "which Julianne had to explain to me means Bachelor Officers' Quarters. And that should make me exempt from staying in here, being married…" He chuckled when Leslie laughed. "But the accommodations are reasonable, although obviously I'd prefer being with you. Anyhow, Monday will get here in its own time, and you can tell me everything then."

"I will," Leslie said. "Okay then, good night, Christian…I love you."

"I love you too, my Rose. Get some sleep, now…good night." Just like that he broke the connection, and Leslie grinned ruefully. That was Christian for you. She hung up and turned out the lights, retreating upstairs and finally managing to fall asleep after all.

§ § § -- May 6, 2001

Roarke was back by the time Leslie came out for breakfast on the morning of her birthday, and he greeted her with, "Happy birthday, Leslie; how did things go last night?"

"It was quiet," she said, "though I did call Christian at one point because I was feeling a little overwhelmed by these." She handed the letters across the table to him. "I think you should see them too, Father. I can't say I learned much about Michael as a person, but I did come to the conclusion that if nothing else, he was still capable of loving. He seemed to be honestly in love with Joanne, though in the end he was loyal to Mom."

Roarke nodded, giving the letters a quick once-over before laying them aside. "And I have little doubt that you find it difficult to reconcile that facet of him with what you knew of him in your childhood. I realize that you're angry with him because of his extramarital affair, Leslie, but you must understand and accept that it's history, and was so long before you were born. Furthermore, since you helped consign him to an eternal doom, you can't confront even his remaining soul with the matter." He looked up in time to see Leslie's slow nod. "Please, child, try not to take such things so personally. I know it's not easy for you; but there is no sense in wasting your time fretting over things that cannot be changed. You have your own life to live, and you owe it to both yourself and Christian to make that life your priority."

Leslie sat in her usual chair, eyeing him with some irony. "I need to quit obsessing over the dead and concentrate on the living, in other words."

"Wouldn't you find that far preferable?" countered Roarke, not without humor.

Leslie had to laugh. "Well, when you put it like that, it's hard to say no." They traded grins, and she reached for the nearest dish and started to fill her plate. "So what time are we supposed to be at the hospital for the test results?"

"I am told they will be ready by ten o'clock," said Roarke, "so take your time with the meal. Incidentally, this is for you." From his inside jacket pocket he produced a plain white business envelope and handed it across the table to Leslie. "Again, happy birthday."

"Thank you, Father," she said, surprised, accepting the envelope and opening it. From inside she withdrew a photograph and a gift certificate, which when she studied them made her gasp. "Oh, Father, this is beautiful…and so extravagant!"

"I thought," Roarke said with a smile, "that you and Christian might find stained glass preferable to frosted glass in the round window you planned for the bathroom. So I took the liberty of choosing a design for you and commissioning it to be installed along with the rest of the window glass. When you and Christian visit the construction site tomorrow, you'll see it on your tour of the house."

"You knew about that?" Leslie demanded, staring at him and shaking her head. "I just got the call yesterday and told Christian when I called him last night. I wish I could understand how you know these things before I get a chance to tell you about them."

"Am I spoiling your fun?" teased Roarke. "I do apologize."

Leslie giggled. "You're forgiven," she teased back, "but next time at least give me the illusion of surprising you with something." He laughed at that, and she got up to give him a hug around the shoulders from behind his chair. "I love it, and I'm sure Christian will too. Thank you, Father, it's just beautiful."

"You're very welcome, sweetheart," Roarke replied. "Finish your meal, and then we will meet Mr. Enderling and go to the hospital."

A little more than an hour later, Scott, Leslie and Roarke met in the hospital waiting room; the former two were both nervous again, though Roarke was as composed as ever. In a few minutes, Dr. Kara Lambert came out accompanied by a technical specialist from the DNA lab, both looking solemn. "Mr. Roarke, Miss Leslie, thank you for coming…and good morning, Mr. Enderling," Dr. Lambert said, shaking hands with all three in turn.

"Is the news good or bad?" Scott asked.

Dr. Lambert offered a smile. "Well, that depends on your point of view," she said. "I see no reason to beat around the bush, because I can tell both of you are on pins and needles. Dr. Tourek?"

The lab tech shook hands with Scott and Leslie as well, greeted Roarke, and then clasped his hands behind his back, clearing his throat. "Our test results show that your DNA doesn't match: you two aren't related in any way."

Scott and Leslie stared at each other. Scott looked dismayed; Leslie felt a peculiar rush of mingled relief and disappointment. "So you're saying that Michael Hamilton wasn't my father?" Scott asked.

"Correct," said Dr. Tourek, not without sympathy. "I'm sorry…it looks as if you'd been hoping the opposite was true."

"I'd at least have been able to end my search," Scott said, looking away. "Now I have no way of knowing who my real father was."

Roarke arose. "Thank you both, doctors," he said, and the two doctors nodded in response and left the trio alone. "Mr. Enderling, I am terribly sorry you were disappointed in your search, but there may yet be a way. Why don't we return to my office, and we can explore other avenues there."

Ten minutes later in Roarke's study, he had Mariki bring in some refreshments for all of them, then urged Scott and Leslie to sit down and took his own seat behind the desk. "I realize there is very little to go on, but perhaps you might have some recollections, Mr. Enderling. Can you remember your mother ever discussing her relationship with anyone other than Michael Hamilton? Surely he was not the only man she fell in love with before meeting your stepfather."

Scott considered this at some length while Roarke and Leslie waited quietly. At last he shrugged and said, "Well, I guess her fondest memories were of Michael Hamilton, since he was pretty much the only one I remember her talking about. I just don't know, Mr. Roarke. Maybe she did talk about some others, but never to the point where it stuck in my memory." He looked helplessly at Leslie. "I'm sorry to give you that kind of scare for nothing, Leslie. I feel like I made a mess of your life without reason."

"You thought you had a reason," Leslie said, shaking her head at him. "Don't apologize, Scott. What we're here to do now is help you find your actual birth father."

"Leslie," Roarke said, "do you happen to recall anything in Michael's letters to Mrs. Enderling that might have provided a clue?"

"The letters?" Scott said, looking amazed. "I never thought of that."

Leslie shrugged. "Nothing that really jumped out at me, but then again, you have to remember I was biased."

"True," said Roarke, "and understandable. Very well, then, I myself shall look them over in more depth, with your permission, Mr. Enderling. They may contain a clue that will give us somewhere to look."

"By all means, Mr. Roarke," Scott said, "check them out to your heart's content. I hope you don't mind if I try to distract myself and see some of the attractions around here. I need a chance to…well…"

"I understand, Mr. Enderling," Roarke assured him. "Please do enjoy yourself, and if we come across anything, we will contact you promptly."

"It's a deal," Scott said, rising and shaking Roarke's hand. "Thank you for your help, both of you. I really appreciate this."

"As Leslie said, that's why we are here," Roarke told him warmly. Scott smiled, then left the house, and Roarke looked thoughtfully at Leslie. "At the moment, there appears to be little else to do. If you will do me a favor and make a check on the Clancy fantasy, I would very much appreciate it. Perhaps by the time you return, something will have presented itself. You'll find appropriate attire in the time-travel room."

Leslie grinned unexpectedly. "A trip through time. Now there's something to take my mind off things. Thought you'd never ask." With Roarke's quiet laughter following her, she crossed the room and closed herself into the time-travel room to carry out her latest errand, happy to have something else to focus on.

Almost three hours later Roarke finally started in on Michael Hamilton's final letter to Joanne Enderling. Taking an absentminded sip from the teacup Mariki had left on his desk and frowning slightly to find its contents were now cold, he set it aside and gave his full concentration to the letter, occasionally rereading a passage in order to be sure he had correctly deciphered Hamilton's cramped handwriting. Toward the end of the letter, which was shorter than all its predecessors, he noticed one sentence in particular_. You should get back together with Gusty, it seemed like you had a good thing with him._ Roarke read this three times, just to be sure he was seeing it properly.

_A strange name, that,_ he reflected, his gaze losing focus. _"Gusty"? It must be a nickname, although it may be difficult to discern its derivation. If Mr. Enderling can provide any insight into it, it may turn out to be the answer he's been looking for._ He set the letter aside and dialed the number to Scott Enderling's bungalow, but got no answer; apparently their guest was still out and about. He noted the time on the grandfather clock, then gathered the letters together and set them carefully aside. Leslie wasn't back yet either, and he decided to give her another half hour before going in himself to see if she needed any assistance.


	5. Chapter 5

§ § § -- May 6, 2001

She returned after ten minutes, by which time Mariki had been haranguing Roarke for some little time about having lunch before Leslie, especially, succumbed to anorexia. On the veranda at the table, Leslie gave Mariki a look of strained tolerance. "I'm not anorexic, Mariki," she said, "and you're still not my mother. Knock it off."

"You're still too skinny, Miss Leslie," Mariki scolded. "Your mother would be simply horrified to see you looking like that. Good grief, what on earth is your clothing size anyway? A foolish size zero like those walking skeletons in Hollywood?"

"That's none of your business," Leslie said, sighing and rolling her eyes in a show of only partially exaggerated annoyance. "Last time Dr. Lambert gave me a checkup, she said not a word about my weight, so if she sees nothing wrong with it, then I'm not going to pay any attention to your endless carrying on."

"That doctor isn't worth the stethoscope she wears around her neck," Mariki snorted disgustedly. "She should have told you to put on another ten pounds. You can certainly use it, Miss Leslie, and don't you argue with me. You're going to have dessert if it's the last thing I ever talk you into. I have cheesecake, which I know you can't resist, so you'd better have one slice. Two would be better."

"Two would be too much," Leslie shot back and gave Roarke a helpless look. "Is this ever going to end, Father?"

"Perhaps it would, if you could manage to refrain from rising to her bait," Roarke suggested with a raised eyebrow and a faint smile. When Leslie rolled her eyes again, he grinned and relented slightly, turning to their cook. "I find myself curious, Mariki. Have you ever brought up the subject with Christian? I can't remember his ever having had a problem with Leslie's weight."

"Men wouldn't," Mariki retorted. "They _like_ skinny, Mr. Roarke, and that's a fact. My son is a perfect example…"

"Don't start in on him again," Leslie interrupted. "Listen, I'll make a deal with you. If you drop the subject of your son, the shallow opportunist, I'll have that second piece of cheesecake even if my poor stomach explodes. All right?"

Roarke stared at her. "Leslie, don't make yourself sick."

"I'll just eat less lunch," Leslie said mischievously and winked at him.

Mariki's eyes went wide with outrage and she aimed a mock glare at Leslie. "That's a nasty, sneaky thing to do, young lady! Do you do that to your husband?"

"I don't have to," Leslie told her smugly. "He doesn't pick on me about how much I weigh. But I'm with Father—have you ever asked Christian about it?"

"No," Mariki said, "but I see no point to it, because he thinks you're perfect no matter how skinny you are."

Leslie sat back, arms folded across her chest. "Precisely: he accepts me just as I am and doesn't demand changes. It would be a load off my mind if you'd take a cue from him."

Mariki snorted loudly at that and wheeled her cart away without replying, indicating to a smirking Leslie that she'd won that round. Roarke shook his head, trying with little success to squelch a grin, and urged her to help herself.

Toward the end of the meal, when Leslie was under a barrage from Mariki over the second slice of cheesecake, Scott Enderling loped across the side yard and onto the porch, pausing in surprise when he came within earshot of Mariki's tirade. "You promised, Miss Leslie! You said you'd have a second piece if I didn't start talking about my son!…"

"I can't eat any more!" Leslie insisted. "I really wish—" She stopped just then, seeing Scott staring at them. "Do you mind, Mariki? We have a guest."

Mariki huffed, affronted, and left again; Roarke sighed gently and said, "Why don't you sit down, Mr. Enderling. Would you care for some dessert?"

"No thanks," Scott said, taking the chair Christian usually occupied whenever he ate with Roarke and Leslie. "Sounds to me like you have an oversolicitous cook."

"We do," Leslie said. "She thinks she's my surrogate mother, it seems. Anyway, did you have a good time?"

"The greatest," Scott said appreciatively. "Mr. Roarke, this island is amazing, and I think I'm going to try to talk my ex-wife into coming here with me sometime. It might help me win her back…" He noticed their sympathetic looks and shrugged. "But that's another fantasy altogether. Any news on this one?"

Roarke nodded and said, "We may have a clue. In Michael Hamilton's final letter to your mother, he mentioned someone named 'Gusty'." At the perplexed look on Scott's face, he withdrew the folded letters from his jacket pocket and handed them to Scott. "You may wish to reference the sentence for yourself, to refresh your memory."

"Gusty!" Leslie echoed. "What sort of name is that?"

"Most likely a nickname," Roarke said. "Perhaps it will trigger a recollection with Mr. Enderling." He turned his attention to Scott, who was scanning the letter in question with a frown that finally cleared when he came across the key sentence.

"Oh, that," he said. "Yeah, that's a pretty weird nickname all right. All I can think is maybe it was some friend of hers who talked a lot…windbag, gusty, you know." He shrugged at Roarke's dubious look and Leslie's soft snicker. "I suppose that's kind of a stretch. But I mean, who calls anybody Gusty? I've heard of Gus, but—" He stopped abruptly, as if something had just occurred to him, and Roarke and Leslie both watched intently. "Hold it, I think I've got something after all. Gus…you know, I seem to recall Mom saying something about a guy she really liked, before she met Michael Hamilton."

"Go on," Leslie prompted when Scott fell silent, trying to grasp the memory.

Scott focused on her. "Mom went to college in New Haven, Connecticut—that's where she knew your biological father. She told me once that she met Hamilton shortly after this guy she'd been crazy about broke it off with her after about a year of dating, and I recalled him in particular for several reasons. For one thing, I always figured she latched onto Hamilton on the rebound; and for another, the guy had this fusty-sounding name—it was Augustus Haraldsen. He was from Denmark and going to school in the states on some kind of exchange program, but Mom said some family emergency called him back home not long after he started his last year, and he broke up with her and never came back."

Roarke and Leslie were staring at him. "An excellent clue, Mr. Enderling," Roarke said, impressed. "Do you know any more about him than that?"

"Not really," Scott said, shrugging. "It seemed to me that between Hamilton and this Dane, Mom spent a lot of time being disappointed in love. I guess the next thing to do is see if there are any Augustus Haraldsens of a certain age still in Denmark."

"Precisely," said Roarke, "and a computer search should make that much simpler. Why don't we try now."

"That, I'll go for," Leslie said. "It'll save me from having to listen to Mariki trying to shove more food down my throat." Roarke and Scott both laughed and rose along with her, and the threesome retreated into the study. There, Leslie settled in front of the computer and entered the name "Augustus Haraldsen" into a search engine while Scott looked on over her shoulder and Roarke took care of a number of phone messages that had come in during the meal.

It took them a good half hour to narrow it down enough to find an Augustus Haraldsen who seemed to fit the bill; he had attended the same New Haven school as Joanne Enderling, at the same time, and had left shortly after beginning his final year and eventually completed his schooling in his native Denmark. In 1974 he had moved to Solvang, California, for a lucrative job, and had taken American citizenship in 1981.

"Geez," Scott breathed, amazed. "Do you think he could be the one?"

"Seems pretty cut-and-dried to me," Leslie said, "unless you know of anyone else your mother was seeing back then."

"Nah, she didn't run around," Scott said. "She wasn't the type. If this guy hadn't had to go back to Denmark, she might have eventually married him."

"Then I suggest we contact the man," Roarke said. "Leslie, see if you can find a current address and telephone number for him in Solvang, California."

She did a little more searching before hitting pay dirt. "Got it, Father," she said with a triumphant note in her voice. "Here's the number." She read it off to Roarke, who picked up the phone and called it without further ado. Scott immediately abandoned Leslie to sit in one of the leather chairs in front of the desk and watch Roarke intensely; Leslie, intrigued as well, spun her chair around enough to watch from where she sat.

"Mr. Augustus Haraldsen? Good afternoon, my name is Roarke, and I am calling from Fantasy Island. …I am very well, thank you. Please forgive the intrusion, but if you would be so kind as to assist me? I am calling on behalf of a guest who is visiting this weekend, and would like very much to know if you remember a Joanne Carroll."

There was a long pause while Scott and Leslie watched; Scott's face took on an increasingly anxious look while Roarke listened, his features expressionless. After some time he said, "I understand. Yes, he is here at this moment; would you like to speak with him? …Of course. One moment." He offered a startled Scott the receiver. "Mr. Haraldsen does indeed recall the name Joanne Carroll, and wishes to speak directly with you."

Slowly Scott accepted the receiver and sat up ramrod-straight before taking a breath and saying, "Mr. Haraldsen? I'm very sorry to bother you, sir…"

"That's quite all right," said a soft-spoken male voice with a gentle Scandinavian accent. "After Mr. Roarke identified himself and explained that he was looking for information about Joanne Carroll, I found myself hoping for some good news. What would you like to know? May I ask your name?"

"Of course, sir, I'm Scott Enderling," Scott said. "Joanne Carroll was my mother."

There was a soft indrawn breath on the other end. "Was she? So she did marry and have a child…I always wondered. It was necessary for me to return home when my older brother died; it devastated my parents and I found myself handling all the details of the funeral and the aftermath. The family was deeply distraught and I was not allowed to return to the United States to complete my schooling, so that I had to finish in Denmark. When I attempted to contact Joanne again, my letters were returned."

"I wish Mom had known you'd tried to get back in touch," Scott said. "I think she was really sorry about the end of your relationship. She did marry, sir, but as a matter of fact, I was two years old at the time. She married a John Enderling, who adopted me."

Another silence. Finally Augustus Haraldsen asked gently, "How old are you?"

"Forty, sir…I was born in July 1960, in Carson City, Nevada," Scott said.

He could hear a faint whispering in what must have been Danish, as if Haraldsen were calculating dates to himself. After a tense moment, the voice said a bit shakily, "My last days with Joanne were in October 1959. Just before I received word of my brother's death, I had decided to ask her to marry me…but I never got the chance. I loved her deeply, but I had never dreamed that the expression of that love would result in…" He hesitated. "If the dates are correct, I think you may be my son." The last two words came out in a reverent near-whisper. "My son…"

"What do you look like?" Scott wanted to know. He had utterly forgotten Roarke's and Leslie's presence.

"I am quite tall, blond, blue-eyed…typical Scandinavian, I suppose," Haraldsen said with a self-deprecating chuckle. "Joanne used to comment on how my nose seemed too slender for my face, and the way my hair would stand on end all the time in dry weather from static electricity, and particularly on a double-jointed thumb."

Scott froze, and to Leslie's astonishment and Roarke's amusement, he lifted his right hand and began twitching his own double-jointed thumb back and forth. "I have that same characteristic, the last one you mentioned…it all but nauseated my ex-wife."

"We must meet," Haraldsen said urgently. "How long will you be on Fantasy Island? I am more than willing to undergo any necessary tests for proof, but if we have that same strange double-jointed thumb, we may not need them."

"I leave tomorrow," Scott said. "I could change my plane reservations and we could meet in L.A. or somewhere…"

They made arrangements for their initial meeting, and when Scott hung up his eyes were aglow. "You know, Mr. Roarke, it may be only a formality, but I can't wait to take the tests to find out if this is definite. Augustus Haraldsen has this same creepy thumb malfunction I do." He waggled his thumb back and forth in a rather unnatural way, while Roarke looked on with a broad smile and Leslie laughed aloud. Scott peered at her in surprise. "You think it's funny? It used to really gross out Mandy. She thought it was sickening."

"It is rather an odd movement," Roarke observed, "but in this case it may well have answered the question you've asked for so many years. If I were you, Mr. Enderling, I would consider that characteristic a blessing in disguise."

Scott grinned. "I do, Mr. Roarke, believe me. Thanks a million." He got to his feet and approached Leslie, offering his hand. "Thanks for all your help, Leslie. I mean, I'm glad I finally found some answers, but it's almost a shame it wasn't Michael Hamilton after all. It would have been a privilege to call you my sister."

"I never had a brother," Leslie said, "and I must admit it would have been a real experience for me if you'd turned out to be Michael's son. But if you want my total honesty, I think you'll be a lot happier having Augustus Haraldsen for your father than you would Michael. And I wish you the best of luck."

"The same to you and to Prince Christian," Scott said, still with his hand outstretched at her. He grinned teasingly. "Aw, go ahead, the thumb won't break if you bend it wrong."

Leslie burst out laughing and the two shook hands. Roarke watched, quietly relieved to see his daughter back in good spirits once more.


	6. Chapter 6

§ § § -- May 7, 2001

When Roarke and Leslie came around the bend in the lane, they found Christian leaning against the side of a jeep, patiently waiting for them. Leslie jumped out before Roarke quite had the car stopped, and ran to Christian, hugging him. Roarke heard the prince's laughter as he hugged her back.

"Just how long have you two been separated again?" Roarke asked teasingly.

"I was about to put the very same question to her," Christian observed, grinning, "but in all honesty, I'm thrilled that she's so glad to see me." He turned to Leslie, who had tucked her head under his chin and closed her eyes. "Is something wrong, my Rose?"

Leslie sighed, drew back and gazed up at him. "I'm feeling a little conflicted. It's been a strange weekend."

Christian nodded and said, "I'm sure of that. So…did Scott Enderling turn out to be your half-brother?"

"No," said Leslie softly, "he's not. His real dad was a Dane who got involved with Joanne Enderling in her senior year of college, and who left without knowing Joanne was pregnant with Scott."

Christian exchanged a glance with Roarke. "How do you feel?" the prince asked, stroking her hair.

"Mixed-up, again," Leslie admitted. "In one way, it would've been kind of nice to have had a living blood relative somewhere on this planet. But on the other hand, despite everything, he would've been living proof of what Michael did to my mother. Either way, I have this new knowledge of Michael now, and I'll just have to learn to live with that." She sighed heavily. "At least this time I won't have to face the demon literally…"

"What do you mean?" Christian asked.

"Ah, now, that's a story for another time," said Roarke. "Leslie, why don't you change your clothes so that you and Christian can go and take that tour through your future home, and try not to dwell on it, as I have already told you."

"Mr. Roarke's right, my darling," Christian agreed. "But tell me one thing: does blood truly matter so much to you?" At her confused look, he went on, "You _have_ relatives. Mr. Roarke, who you've claimed on a number of occasions has been the father to you that Michael failed to be. Anna-Laura and Carl Johan, who still think you are my salvation. My nieces and nephews—especially Anna-Kristina, who helped keep me somewhat sane during the years with Marina and who always asserted it was past time you and I were allowed our happiness together. Oh yes, and then there's your poor, hopelessly besotted husband…"

"Who's feeling slightly underappreciated, maybe?" suggested Leslie teasingly, and they all laughed. Hugging him again, she said, "You're right, my love, I do have relatives. I have the best ones of all…the ones who love me, and whom I love."

"Indeed," Roarke said. "I must thank you for your brilliant insight, Christian. With your help, I may yet convince Leslie to focus on her present and her future, rather than her past…though I warn you now, it's a very difficult job. She is extremely stubborn."

Christian grinned. "Well, if I truly am that brilliant, I should be able to find a way to get around that stubbornness. Thank you, Mr. Roarke. Come on, my Leslie Rose, time for us to get our first look at our house."  
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**A/N:** _More to come…with a couple of large surprises in store for Christian especially. Keep watching this space…_


End file.
